Voice
by Elphaba-Rose
Summary: Pairing: Mike/Leo. Mike struggles to deal with an inevitable rite of passage.


A.N: Written for a competition. Thank you for reading.

Voice

Wide, glassy green eyes stared unseeingly into his own. Mikey swallowed nervously, unable to look away. The blood was rapidly draining from the kid's face, a trickle of the thick, dark liquid oozed from the corner of his mouth. How many times had he seen corpses like this in horror movies and freaked out? None of those fake, plastic bodies compared to having the real thing laid out before him like some morbid funeral. The films never showed the last dying spark of life as it left their eyes, or the final, strangled gasp for air in the dead of night.

He hadn't meant it, god knows he hadn't. He'd moved without thinking, a slick green blur in the golden artificial lamplight. All he remembered was the cold metal eye of the firearm aiming straight for Leonardo's forehead and the agonisingly slow creak of the trigger. Next thing he knew, the kid was on the floor and Mikey stood over him, his chest heaving and the bones in his hands stinging from the force of the blow. He spared Leonardo a quick glance. His big brother was safe and facing his own assailants, completely oblivious as to what had just taken place. Then Mikey had made the mistake of looking down.

He'd never killed before. He'd always avoided it, it was slightly easier when you didn't have blades for weapons. He just never wanted to have his enemy's blood staining his conscience. He wanted to give them another chance, an opportunity to reflect upon the choices that got them there in the first place. Everyone had the capacity for change, and Mike didn't want to be the one who snatched that away from them. Donatello felt the same way, it was Leonardo and Raphael who were harder to convince. They were a cynical pair, quick to mistrust and expect the worst. Mikey didn't hold that against them. They only had the family's best interest at heart.

His knuckles cracked as he gripped his nunchaku harder. Now was not the time for this. He should focus on surviving this fight. He tore his eyes from the body and returned to the action with vigour. Never before had he been so grateful for their Ninjitsu training. He moved as if his whole being was on autopilot, the manoeuvres engrained into his subconscious since he was old enough to walk. It was as natural to them now as breathing, their senses honed to near perfection. His brain dimly registered the caress of the wind on his skin, the crunch of gravel under his feet, the cries in the darkness.

Before he knew it, it was over and he found himself doubled over, clutching his ribs and catching his breath. There was something in his lungs, an uncomfortable heaviness that restricted his intake of air. He didn't have time to figure out what it was because someone tugged his hand, dragging him away from the fray. That's when he heard them, the sirens and tyres screeching in the distance. So he allowed whoever it was to pull him along, stumbling after them in a daze.

It took a few seconds to recognise Donatello's clammy palm intertwined in his own. His brother's face was locked in a sort of calm distress as they jogged, mouth grim but hazel eyes flickering everywhere. Mikey frowned, wanting to reach out and make sure it was really him. He looked around for Leonardo, saw him leaning heavily on Raphael but awake and attempting to carry his own weight. Mikey ached to touch him but Donatello was insistent and picked up the pace. They left the light behind them, merging as one into the shadows of the alleyway.

It was Donatello who heaved the cover from the manhole, grunting desperately at the exertion. Mikey's hand felt like ice when he had let go. He felt like he was in a dream, swimming through a fog of dubiety. His arms and legs felt unattached from his body but he descended the ladder anyway, waiting at the bottom like a lost puppy. The gunk that swirled around his ankles tickled his skin and he kicked at it, squinting in the darkness.

He looked up in surprise, his ears catching the sound of short, laboured rasps in the swampy air. His heart jumped into his throat for the briefest second before he realised it was him making the noises, his chest straining for air still. He leaned against the brick wall, ignoring the scrape of his shell, and listened to the steady drip of sewer water. Funny, it sounded a lot thicker than it ought to. The weak, electronic lights pulsed in time with his heartbeat.

Donatello leapt gracefully down after him, wasting no time and turning so quickly his heels slipped in the dirt. He held his arms skyward, ready to guide Leonardo should he need it. The leader's shaking hands slid from the metal, his mouth emitting a surprised yelp as his feet slithered from the slimy rungs. He was caught, but Donatello's tired arms failed to hold his weight and they crumpled to the floor.

For a few moments, Mikey watched them curiously. Neither moved but he could hear rushed whispering as if it echoed all around the tunnel walls. It wasn't until he edged forwards did Donatello and Leonardo move. The oldest turtle shoved the younger away from him, staggering to his feet and disregarding the offered help. Donatello narrowed his eyes at him, his emotions clear despite the gloom. Mike tilted his head at the strange voice that filled the tunnel with a harsh hum.

"Help Michelangelo,"

Once more, Mikey extended a hand to touch his pale skin, but once more Donatello snatched him and wrenched him on. This time however, Mikey struggled, whimpering and digging in his heels at his brother's crushing hold. Only when he saw Raphael had finished securing the manhole cover and was there again to guide their older brother did Mikey relax and allow himself to blunder afterwards, blindly following Donatello further into the sewers.

No one spoke as they ran, and Mikey found himself concentrating on the rhythmic thudding of their feet. Vaguely he began to recognise the route home, the familiarity seeping into him and finally calming his throbbing heart. He was going to wake up soon. They would round the corner, skid to a halt, Donatello would grab the pipe to the lair, and then he would wake up. He would find himself wrapped in the fabric cocoon of his own bed and tonight's events would turn out to be some horrific nightmare.

It didn't happen. The wall rumbled open and Donatello hurried on ahead, leaving him to wander into their home in a trance. He was enveloped with a native warmth and he looked upon the place as if seeing it for the first time. Why had he not woken up yet? Why was everything continuing on in the same fashion? The clock in the distant kitchen ticked loudly. The red numbers on the VCR flashed brightly. Something was wrong.

He turned around to see Master Splinter emerging from his room in a panic, his wooden stick clunking dully on the stone floor. Mikey observed him in fascination. It was almost as if the rat moved in slow motion, his old face twisted with concern. He obscurely understood his father's worried question but he ignored it. There was a rushing in his ears he couldn't quite place. If he tried to ascertain where it was coming from, he could just about forget the tightness in his chest.

He walked straight past his Sensei and sank into the cushions of the worn couch. He was going to sit here and wait until he woke up. That would be the most logical explanation. Everything else could continue to pretend as if it were real life. He would just be patient and wait for the world to right itself. He just knew this was a dream. If it wasn't, Donatello wouldn't be so agitated, and Leonardo sure as shell wouldn't be injured. His big brother was invincible.

He looked up into his father's frantic face and just smiled calmly. Master Splinter was so silly. Didn't he realise all of this was happening in his head? He watched his iridescent whiskers dance in the firelight and wondered if they'd make good guitar strings. Not that he'd ever attempt it of course. That would be rude. Master Splinter needed his whiskers, and it would be very inconsiderate of Mikey to try and take them away from him. So instead he looked towards the door.

His stomach contracted painfully, a sharp, sudden distraction from the constriction of his chest. He knew the cause. Raphael was hefting Leonardo over the threshold, coaxing him with soothing words that made Mikey feel nauseous. Their leader was a shade of green that Mike had never seen before, a sickly colour devoid of energy. His eyes travelled down, and if he felt ill before he felt downright catastrophic now.

Leonardo clutched his outside thigh, thick blood spilling over his fingers and down his leg. Mikey couldn't help but watch it in awe as it dribbled in rivulets down the skin as if it had a mind of its own. For the first time, he felt doubt niggle in the back of his brain. Was this really a dream? That blood didn't look fake. In fact, it looked similar to the blood on the kid he killed earlier. Was that a sleep-induced illusion too?

"Mikey. Take care of Mikey,"

Again with that strange, gruff voice. Raphael ignored their leader's orders and swore fondly at him, dragging him roughly off into the direction of the sick room. Mikey felt a whine vibrate in his throat and leaned up on his knees to watch them go, torn between following the dream and waiting for reality. Slowly, he turned to sit back properly on the sofa, considering his options. Did he dare face up to the possible nightmare that awaited him, or did he just continue to sit here and wait for life to pass him by? There was certainly less chance of him getting hurt if he stayed right where he was, that was for sure.

Mike didn't like getting hurt. Nor did he like to see other people get hurt. And he'd seen it so much over the years he was getting sick of it. He'd come to expect it now. His heart sank with dread every time they went out for their nightly patrols. Some nights they were lucky; all four came home tired but laughing and happy and without a graze. Some nights there would be bumps, bruises, scrapes and scratches, but they were nothing to worry about and standard in their line of work. And then there were nights like tonight. Where one or more of them got so badly injured that Mike just didn't know what to do for the better.

That wasn't even the half of it. Broken bones and stab wounds he could deal with, they healed eventually, leaving nothing but a milky white scar. Numbly, he placed a delicate hand over his heaving plastron, feeling the frantic thudding of his heart. The most damage was caused when that got hurt. Your feelings weren't as easy to fix as your body. You can't just stitch them back together, take a painkiller and wait for them to mend. The effects were permanent, the scars forever lingering within your soul. That was what Mikey worried about most of all. He wasn't sure how much his little heart could take.

Which is why he rooted himself exactly where he was and patiently watched the glowing red numbers steadily increase on the VCR. His pulse and breathing were still ragged, but he was hardly even aware of them anymore. Ten minutes passed before one of his brothers came looking for him. Raphael flopped heavily beside him, sinking low into the cushions. Mikey tilted his head at him, taking in his weary form. He always saw Raphael as an angry, towering mass of muscle, truly terrifying in any fight. But here he looked small and worn down, all traces of antagonism left behind up in that darkened alleyway.

"'Sup, runt?" Raphael sighed, closing his eyes.

"Leo?"

It was just one, quiet word, but it made Mikey frown. Even his own voice sounded off, a faraway echo in a distant world. He watched as Raphael swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and then down. The older turtle didn't open his eyes, but Mikey could see that he hesitated, unsure what to tell him. He drew in breath, preparing himself for the blow against his heart. Maybe if he braced himself enough, it wouldn't be as painful.

"He's gonna be fine. Just nicked the muscle. Worst part'll be gettin' him t'stay in bed," Raphael joked, a light grin lighting up his features.

Mikey failed to smile. Instead he looked back at the television screen. Leonardo's injury had looked a lot worse than what his brother was making out. Mikey was used to hearing the sugar coated versions and had learnt not to trust them. Master Splinter had a slight cold? Not at all, it was full blown 'flu and would be bedridden for weeks. Raphael had had a minor tantrum? Not at all, he'd trashed the dojo in a fit of rage and disappeared topside for five hours. Donatello had made a small miscalculation? Not at all, he'd overlooked a huge variable and was currently panicking. Leonardo had nicked the muscle? Not at all, he'd severed an artery and his leg was hanging off.

"He wanted me to check on you actually. How you doin'?" Raphael asked, opening his eyes and looking at his younger brother properly for the first time since they got home.

Mikey shrugged and brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He felt drained, as if all of his energy had been sapped from his body. He'd lost a piece of himself up there tonight, and he didn't know how to get it back. He didn't even know what it was. All he knew was he felt half the turtle he'd been that morning. He didn't expect Raphael to understand though so he didn't reply. His voice sounded weird anyway.

Raphael sighed once more and let it drop, closing his eyes once more. Mikey sat there for a further thirty minutes until his eyelids began to droop and his head began to spin. He'd given up on the dream idea, he clearly would have woken up by now if this whole thing was just an illusion. He had to accept this was real. The night's events were indeed true and hadn't happened in his mind's eye. He yawned widely, his lungs twinging at the sudden increase of air. Every fibre of his being was exhausted and begging for respite.

With a mumbled 'goodnight' to Raphael, Mikey shakily climbed to his feet and shuffled towards the bedrooms. A part of him ached for Leonardo's touch, but the logical part of his brain that still worked advised him against that. It would be best to allow Donatello to finish treating him without any interruptions. He unconsciously padded past his own bedroom and pushed his way into Leonardo's, rubbing his sore eyes.

He didn't bother to flick on the lights, he had memorised the layout of his brother's room after many late night visits. He always preferred to stay in Leonardo's bed. It was always devoid of cookie crumbs, cat hair and bits of Lego. Not only that but his oldest brother possessed a scent that never failed to fill him with a sense of belonging and protection. His own bed stank of Cheetos. After undressing, he located the bed and crawled underneath the sheets, pulling them tight around his shell and inhaling Leonardo's essence.

He closed his eyes and recalled his brother's face, his calloused, gentle hands, his soothing voice. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost feel the ghost of his breath on the back of his throat, the caress of his lips in the dark. Finally, his breathing began to slow, the tightness in his chest began to lessen and he could breathe in more and more of Leonardo each time. It didn't take long for him to eventually drift off, sleep dulling his senses and taking over his fatigued mind.

He restlessly dreamt of squawking buzzards. The bestial scavengers picked amongst corpses of bears, gobbling up morsels of decaying flesh. He determinedly fought his way through the massacre, squinting into the darkness for a glimpse of light. He called out for Leonardo, for his brothers, his father. Only his desperate pleas echoed back at him. Then the ticking started. A thousand clocks counting the seconds he had left. He clawed through fur and feathers, tripping and tumbling until he was free.

Nothing awaited him. Blackness stretched out before him, the sounds of the sickening feasting of the birds faded, drowned out by the timepieces. He stumbled on, his voice dying in his throat. He could see something a few feet before him, a lumpy figure curled up on the floor. Swallowing the horrified lump in his throat, he bent and reached forward, enclosing his shaking hand on the creature's shoulder. It was ice cold, the sharp sensation pricking his skin. He took a deep breath and turned the body over.

Wide, glassy green eyes stared unseeingly into his own. His scream came out as strangled gasp, withdrawing his hand as if it had been thrust into a blazing fire. The kid he had killed lay limp and lifeless. His auburn hair was matted with thick, dark blood. He remembered where he had struck now, where he had swung solid oak against the back of the young boy's head. The crack of wood on bone reverberated in his ears, churning his stomach.

Without warning, the deafening ticking ceased.

Mikey snatched himself from sleep, sitting up and crying out in horror. He panicked, gasping for breath, glancing around frantically. A wave of relief washed over him when he realised where he was. He could make out shapes in the darkness, recognised Leonardo's desk, the rigid sword racks, the curve of his meditation cushions. His heartbeat started to slow, and he pressed cool fingers against his hot, sweaty forehead.

"Mikey?"

The dazed, sleepy voice made him jump, his heart leaping into his throat. His brain instantly conjured images of stalkers and murderers creeping into bed with him. No need to mention the fact that they were many feet underground surrounded by a security system so tight even the CIA wouldn't be able to hack it. He snapped around to face the voice, ready to fling himself out of bed and across to the other side of the room.

Leonardo's soft amber eyes peered up at him, blinking wearily in confusion. Mikey visibly relaxed, breathing out and letting his shoulders slump. Leonardo blindly felt for him, and one single touch was all the encouragement Mikey needed. He instantly laid back down and folded himself into his brother's arms, burying his nose into the hollow of Leonardo's throat. His brother's presence chased away the remnants of the nightmare, his skittering fingers smoothing out charred nerves and frightened goosebumps.

"Bad dream," Mikey whispered against his skin.

Leonardo did not reply, simply held him closer. Mikey pressed himself into the embrace, his legs brushing against the thick bandages on Leonardo's thigh. The wound could not be as bad as first imagined then, if Donatello had allowed him to return to his own room. Perhaps for the first time, Raphael had not unnecessarily sugar coated the details. He sighed and pressed his cheek to the cool plates of the plastron before him.

"You okay?"

Leonardo's voice was soft and unguarded and the words ran together, his usual measured pronunciation defeated by a large dose of painkillers. Mikey nodded and kissed the pebbled skin of his collar as reassurance. He was okay now he was in his big brother's arms. Nothing bad could ever happen whilst he was there. The apocalypse could be raging around them but they would be safe and protected as long as they stayed precisely where they were. Leonardo settled at that, wriggling into a more comfortable position and opened himself up for sleep once more.

Except Mikey didn't sleep. He dozed in fitful and erratic bouts, eyes snapping awake after mere minutes to the imagined sound of ticking. Leonardo didn't wake again, and Mikey never disturbed him. Instead he closed his eyes to the pressing darkness and forced himself to concentrate on the rise and fall of the chest beneath him, the tickle of relaxed breath on his head, the reassuring weight of the arms around him. He could almost fool himself into believing it was the night before, and the earlier events were just another horrific dream.

He didn't know how long he laid awake for. It felt like an eternity when the blackness never changed shades. That was one thing he really hated about living underground. You could never tell when daylight had come, you were forever twisted up in a ceaseless combination of darkness and artificial light. Mikey loved the sun, thrived for it even. He wistfully remembered sneaking out into the tunnels and basking in the glow that sunk through the grates from above. He could lie in the warm, glittering rays for hours.

He knew it was morning when Donatello knocked on the door and entered to check up on his patient. He flicked on the lights and didn't bat an eyelid to find the two curled up in bed together. Mikey flinched and squinted through the sudden brightness, blinking away the spots. He sat up in a daze, pulling himself out of Leonardo's arms. The leader gave a tiny whimper and turned into his lover's side, seeking warmth and condolences.

"Good morning. You don't look so good Mike, didn't you sleep well?" Donatello enquired kindly, moving quietly to the bed.

Mikey shook his heavy head, dragging it from side to side as if it were filled with lead. He'd worried that the tightness in his chest might have crept back up on him overnight but instead he found dull aches from various bruises he'd acquired the night before. He felt almost detached, as if he was watching Donatello check his sleeping brother's wound through a cloud of mystery. He vaguely wondered if this was what it felt like to astral project? It certainly seemed like his body and his mind were in two completely different places right now.

"Not to worry. A few days rest will do us all some good," Donatello continued amicably, unwinding the bandages from their brother's thigh.

It was then that Leonardo awoke, blinking bemusedly as if in a trance. He pulled a face at the prodding fingers but allowed it, pressing his face to Mikey's side. The younger turtle petted him absent-mindedly, pondering just how strong those painkillers must be if Leonardo was this docile. He was almost like a sedated animal, tranquil and needing security. Mikey bitterly speculated if Leonardo knew he was chasing comfort from a murderer. Would he be so keen as to cuddle up to him then?

Mikey tried to offer some sort of ascension to Donatello's suggestion, but his tongue seemed far too big for his mouth so he just nodded. Rest would probably do the others a world of good, but he'd much prefer to just go back to sleep and not wake up for a very long time. He would open his eyes when, and only when, all this had blown over and he didn't feel like such a mess. And Leonardo would be back on his feet by then and that would make things shell of a lot easier. None of them were looking forward to the time his painkillers wore off and he chose to become a difficult patient once again.

Donatello appeared pleased with the state of Leonardo's injury because he re-wrapped it tightly and securely. It was Mikey's turn to be doctored then, after being overlooked last night. He silently and patiently sat through the examination, allowing his brother to fulfil his medical complex. Satisfied that the youngest turtle wasn't harbouring any secret maladies, Donatello left them to their own company. He wasn't convinced that Mikey was entirely one hundred per cent however, but knew when he had to take a step back and give his brothers their breathing space. Mikey would come to him when he needed him. That was always how it had been.

Mikey sighed and laid down once more, this time reversing their previous positions and extending his teddy bear services. He pulled Leonardo close, expecting his brother to use his plastron as a pillow and cushion his face next to his beating heart. Instead, Leonardo wriggled forward and affectionately nuzzled their wide noses together, folding his hands along the edge of Mike's carapace. He smiled slightly, searching the amber eyes opposite for guidance and answers. He didn't find any, but he did find an easy adoration that Leonardo didn't bother to hide.

"You okay?"

It was the same question from hours before, just as faint and disorientated from sleep and medication. Mike had to rack his brain for a brief moment and make sure he wasn't suffering deja vu, that this was indeed a second, separate occasion. Slowly, he nodded, unable to speak once more. It was weird, like there was a ball stuck in his throat, obstructing any and all sounds he tried to make. He wasn't too worried though, he could quit talking for a while. It would only complicate things and he was happy enough just to lie with his brother and forget about the world outside that door.

Leonardo's mouth was a gentle fire, coaxing life back into his mindless body. It was a chaste kiss, no passion or hunger drove it, but still Mikey found himself responding in kind. The welcome sensations made him believe it had been months and not hours since their last kiss, and Mikey wished it wouldn't end. He would quite easily drown in his leader's compassionate touch without the slightest care. In fact, he wanted to lock the door and never emerge again. They would just spend the rest of their lives entwined together.

It wasn't long before Leonardo nodded back off to sleep, leaving Mikey alone with his thoughts once more. His stomach was growling but he ignored it, too comfortable to move. Raphael and Donatello could cook their own meals for now, it wouldn't kill them. He stared up at the ceiling, subconsciously tracing patterns into the rough grooves of Leonardo's shell. His well-rehearsed fingers left the vulnerable, shell-less part of his back alone. Even now, months on, the area was still sensitive.

His mind was begging for rest but he just couldn't seem to shut off. Just when he started drowsing, preparing to slip into unconsciousness, he was forcefully reminded of the young boy he had killed not twelve hours ago. He had never been one to dwell on past events but he couldn't get the fight out of his head. He could recall every detail clearly now, as if it had happened only seconds ago. His fighting skill would have made Splinter proud, he knew that without a doubt. But where was the sense of accomplishment if that talent had been used to end a life?

He had no choice, he repeated to himself. It was either kill the boy or lose Leonardo, and the latter was something he just couldn't face. Ever since they were young, he had loved his oldest brother with a fierce passion that he could never quite explain. All he knew was that when they kissed, when they made love, when they touched, he felt that he had completed himself. Leonardo made all the heartache and trouble they had endured worth every second, and Mikey just couldn't even contemplate a life without him. So he really had no choice.

The boy had condemned himself to death the moment he aimed his firearm at Leonardo's head. So then if that were the case, why could he not shake the feeling that he had done a terrible misdeed? Who was he to determine who was to live and who was to die? Had he defied fate's wishes, by saving his brother? They had never been forbidden to kill. From day one Master Splinter had outlined the moral dangers of learning the art of self defence. It was nobler and kinder, to merely incapacitate your opponent, to allow them the chance to reflect on their actions and change their ways for the greater good. But one day, that might not be enough. One day, you may have to take their life, to save your own.

What made Mikey's life more precious than theirs? What right did they have to save themselves? They were mutants, outcasts to society. Who would miss them when they were dead? A handful of people. Who would miss the kid he had killed? He would have had a family, friends. He would have had so many people dear to his heart, and Mikey had snatched him away from them. He knew there was always the risk that one day, they might die. Was that really an adequate justification for murder?

In the human world, he would have been arrested and charged for manslaughter most likely. Either way, it was still a crime. The turtles weren't part of the human society, so where did that leave them? They had already disregarded the social norm by striking up relationships with their brothers. Who was to say they couldn't disregard this too? Is that how Raphael and Leonardo got by? Their family was not human, therefore there was no need to abide by their rules. Sure enough, their first priority was to protect the clan at all costs.

Mikey didn't want to carry on feeling this lost, but he wasn't sure how to get through this. The deed was done, there was no going back. He had to accept that and move on. So then why was it so difficult? How could he forget that he had prematurely ended someone's life, that he had taken away a son, a brother, a friend. He had been so young, maybe even his own age. That shouldn't make any difference, but somehow it made it worse. Why should an age affect anything? A life was a life, no matter how old.

After a couple of hours, he ultimately passed out, his brain far too tired to question the ethics of his actions any longer. His slumber was sporadic, but thankfully dreamless, and he spent most of it tossing and turning in his brother's arms. Someone came and delivered food for them whilst they slept, placing dishes soundlessly onto the desk and tiptoeing out without a peep. The smell of hot soup roused them both, their basic bodily needs overpowering their desire to nap.

Mikey rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, yawning widely. The rest had helped a little, but the room still seemed bigger than usual, as if he were in an ethereal state. He leaned over to give Leonardo a quick peck as he sat up with a wince, before shoving the sheets aside and fetching their food. The creamy chicken smell made his mouth water and he hurriedly returned to the bed, clumsily climbing in without spilling a drop.

They fed one another, smiling easily and laughing quietly, ladling spoonfuls of broth into the other's waiting mouths. Leonardo was growing less and less bewildered the longer he was awake, regaining his senses as the initial dose of medication began to wear off. It was sickeningly adorable, Mikey realised, but he couldn't care less. He wanted to snatch these precious moments and preserve them forever, before he lost sight of them altogether. He could feel his innocence and his purity slipping away second by second as his soul continued to dwell on his sin in the back of his mind. If he didn't take advantage of these child-like experiences now, they may be out of his reach before he knew it.

He laid the dishes aside once they had finished, and Leonardo cradled him, softly humming lullabies from their childhood. He found himself clasping his brother's waist tight, as if afraid he too might be taken away. Did he deserve this unwavering devotion after what he had done? After all, this was what he had been trying to protect. The others hadn't felt this overwhelming sense of displacement and fear after their first kill. Otherwise he would have known about it, surely. After all, Leonardo told him everything. There were no secrets between the two.

After a while, Leonardo ceased his humming but did not halt the tender rubbing of Mike's arms. He knew that eventually, he would have to get up and face the world again, but for now, he was content just to lie there and forget anything else existed. He was already getting sick of this uneasiness churning within his gut and hoped it wouldn't be something he had to face every day now for the rest of his life. He knew without a doubt that it would quickly become a struggle, even with Leonardo and his family's dedicated love and support.

"Are you alright? You're awfully quiet," Leonardo whispered after a long while.

Mikey fully intended to answer him. He even opened his mouth ready to form the words but for some reason his voice just did not seem to work. He frowned to himself and gave Leonardo a small nod instead. This was bizarre. Never once in his life had he found himself unable to talk. He loved chattering, and he knew Leonardo loved the sound of his voice. He wasn't okay, and wanted to explain to his brother exactly what it was that had shaken him so badly, but how could he with just a movement of his head?

Another thirty minutes passed without change. Leonardo sensed that there was something his brother was keeping from him, but didn't want to pressurise him into talking if Mike was unwilling. He had a strong inkling that it had something to do with the fight from the night before. Leonardo had seen the body on the floor, had quickly formed his conclusions as to why Mikey was so disturbed. It troubled him, to see his lover so afflicted and he was unable to do anything but hold him. He had always worried about when this day would come. He just hoped that he would be able to convince his brother that killing the Purple Dragon had been the right thing to do.

"Talk to me. I miss your voice," He breathed softly, tenderly nuzzling his nose against Mike's smooth cheek.

The younger turtle's breath caught in his throat. He tried, honest to god, he tried to coerce his voice into working. He failed to make even the slightest of sounds and the realisation caused his eyes to prickle and his throat to constrict. Was this his punishment? Was losing his beautiful voice the price he had to pay for stealing a life that wasn't his to take? He didn't see the others suffering in such a way for the people they had killed. Leonardo and Raphael and Donatello had not lost anything dear to them. Was that further proof that he was in the wrong?

He turned and buried his face into Leonardo's side with a quiet whimper. The distressed noise broke Leonardo's heart and he scooped him closer, rocking him delicately. He had known that his first kill would be a struggle for Mike to deal with, but he had no idea it would have affected him this much. He was clearly in shock, engulfed by so many conflicting emotions he just couldn't think straight, or even vocalise how he was feeling. The least Leonardo could do was try his damned hardest to help see him through this.

"I know about the boy you killed last night," He began gently.

Mike's devastatingly beautiful blue eyes widened in horror before screwing shut once more. He wanted to rewind everything. He wanted to go back to last night and suggest they take a different route home, avoiding the fight altogether. Why couldn't Leonardo do that for him? He could do almost everything else. That was the only thing in the world he wanted right now. He'd do anything to get rid of this distorted hopelessness festering within his heart.

"You have to understand, you did absolutely nothing wrong. You were protecting our family, and sometimes, killing is what we have to do to survive. I know that right now it feels like you're being torn in two, but I promise you, it gets easier," Leonardo soothed, planting loving kisses to the curve of his head.

Mikey had no idea how that would be possible. How on earth could this soul-destroying feeling get any easier to bear? Guilt was a monster, he determined. It ate away at you until you were consumed and controlled by it. Leonardo knew a lot about guilt, so how could he not realise how fruitless his comfort was? Leonardo was often blaming himself for things that were beyond his control, it was a persistent flaw of his. It was only now, with Mike's consistent encouragement was the leader beginning to accept that he could not be responsible for everything that happened.

"You saved my life. You have no need to feel guilty for that,"

Mikey froze in realisation, opening his eyes. Leonardo had been struggling with this personal demon for many, many years now. If anyone knew how he felt right now, it would be him. So shouldn't Mike believe him when he assured him it would get better over time? After all, all three of his brothers had felt like this at some point in their lives and they had found the willpower to pick themselves up and carry on.

They can avoid it as much as they wanted, but killing enemies was going to be inevitable in their line of work. Mike could plan his attacks as carefully as he wanted, but at some point he was going to have to resort to dealing death. That was the consequence they had to face if they wanted their clan to survive. Besides, the enemies were singing for their death also, it was either kill or be killed. He understood now that his family's protection came first. Losing any of them, not just Leonardo, was out of the question.

Leonardo maintained lulling his brother in his arms, hoping desperately to some higher power that he had gotten through to him. He couldn't lose his cheerful, laid-back, innocent baby brother to this new, angst-ridden emotion. They had to do what they could to survive, and that included eliminating those that threatened the family. It was something that Leonardo wished Mikey would never have to even think about, let alone come to terms with, but such was not their karma.

The minutes turned to hours, turned to days. Mikey refused to speak for a week. Post-Traumatic Stress disorder, Donatello called it. The younger turtle spent his time wrapped up in Leonardo's bed, even when the owner had vacated it in favour of getting back on his feet once his leg had started to heal. It was frustrating and saddening to watch their brother indulge in such mindless self-pity, but eventually, Mikey started fighting back. After two days of hiding under the sheets, he painstakingly pulled himself together and began integrating himself into a daily routine once more.

Seven days after the incident, Mike found himself skulking through the moonlit streets hand in hand with his oldest brother. Leonardo's hand was a warm and reassuring crutch on his first outing. He was tired, more nightmares had plagued his sleep, but he followed wordlessly, trusting Leonardo to keep him safe. The leader had been right of course. It was terribly slow progress, but day by day he was finding the guilt a little simpler to live with. In fact, the thing that hurt most now, was his inability to find the strength to talk.

He blinked in astonishment when he recognised the cemetery gates rising above like an omen and looked up at Leonardo for confirmation. His brother only nodded and tugged him along, pulling nervously on his coat and limping. It pained him to be so daringly out in the open, but this was something he had to do for his little brother if they were going to make any kind of significant progress. There was no one around anyway, the humans all had sense and were tucked away against the Winter chill in their beds.

Mike shivered uncontrollably as they stepped foot onto the spongy grass. The graveyard never failed to give him the creeps, even now with Leonardo for company. The wind was biting and made the ugly old trees creak and groan as if they were on death's door themselves. He tried to avoid looking around too much, his over-active imagination conjuring up images of zombies clawing their way out of graves and those damned vultures from his dreams picking at their bones. He kept his eyes on his mucky shoes as they walked, letting Leonardo hunt around for whatever it was he was looking for.

After a few minutes, they came to a halt and Mikey forced himself to look up into his brother's face. Leonardo wore a serene expression and nodded towards the headstone in front of them. Curiously, Mike looked at the names engraved on the large stone slab. He frowned, the information meaning nothing to him. It looked freshly carved, and the soil was still overturned and grass-free. In a little pot lay the smallest bunch of yellow daisies, an odd flash of light against the dull grey. Next to that, the tiniest passport sized photograph.

Soundlessly, Mike folded to his knees and leaned forward, taking the small, flimsy picture in his large green fingers. He gasped sharply in the deathly silence, tracing the features of the glossy face. It was the boy he had killed. It was unmistakeable. He had the same green eyes, only this time they were bright and carefree. His hair was just as auburn, just as messy. He looked younger in this image, almost as if he were from another life. Leonardo's hand on his shoulder was appreciated tenfold.

If Leonardo had told him where they were going, Mikey would have been frightened, might have even refused to go. He wasn't sure how seeing the boy's grave would ever have a positive effect on his feelings, but it did. A sensation of peace washed over him as he placed the photograph back where it belonged and folded his hands in his lap. He could feel the burden slowly rising from his shoulders, and with each passing second he found it just that bit easier to breathe.

Leonardo knelt beside him and snaked an arm around his shoulders, paying his own respects to the Purple Dragon and taking the weight off his injured leg. Honouring the dead was a custom that had helped him overcome his own guilt in the past, and somehow he knew that it would help Mikey also. It was an opportunity to come to terms with what had occurred and to be grateful for the fact that they had survived and were well. Smiling slightly, he leaned over and lightly pressed his mouth to Mike's temple.

"Thank you,"

His voice was croaky and quiet from neglect but it was still the most beautiful sound that had ever graced Leonardo's ears. The leader knew then that his brother would come out of this personal dilemma stronger than ever, and their relationship would be all the more enduring as a result. Gently, he curled a finger around Mike's chin and turned his face into his kiss. Mikey's eyes fluttered closed and he latched tightly onto his brother's coat, happily accepting the love and the faith that was offered to him.

Michelangelo was not going to let anyone take away what he had with Leonardo. Nor was he going to allow the loss of any member of his family. If he had to kill to ensure that, then so be it. He had no right to determine who was to live and who was to die. Just as the ones who sought to kill him or his brothers had no right to assume their lives were theirs to take. He would just take each day as it came and endeavour to secure his family's safety, no matter the cost.


End file.
